Crumblin' down...

Well the first day of the husband's 'COTC' diet ('Cut Out The Crap' in case you're wondering) didn't go so well.  I am blaming the Mother...

I texted her yesterday to see if she fancied coming over for a walk with the dogs and then a cup of tea. Turns out that she was that keen, that she got to my house before I did, and when I eventually escaped from Binland and headed home, there she was, ensconced in the kitchen with son number two chatting away, hardly noticing when I dragged myself through the front door carrying heavy shopping.

So we had a cup of tea, and then took the dogs over to the allotment to pick my sweetcorn (huge success in the patch of dirt), and maybe get some blackberries.  We both had coats on as it looked a bit iffy (this is a British term which is often used to describe any weather which is not sunny) so we set out with a large plastic bowl and the dogs.

There is a recurring issue whenever I go and harvest anything from my allotment, in that I always assume that one of the clean poop bags will be enough to bring back whatever I've had the luck not to kill or hand over to the rabbits. This time was no different...

So we picked eight sweetcorn and seven runner beans (just enough for her dinner last night), and then walked over to the many blackberry bushes which litter the field I walk in.  I have to confess that it was a case of 'one for the bowl, and two for me', but notwithstanding that, the bowl was almost full, and we decided to go back home.

While I was walking back, the very clear image of a blackberry and apple crumble came into my head, and I suggested that we stop off at the orchard on the way through and collect some apples. This is where it all went wrong.

We had corns in the bag, runner beans and blackberries in the bowl, so there was nowhere to put the apples.  As it was quite warm yesterday, I had taken my coat off and tied it around my waist, and clocking this, the Mother's eyes lit up.  

'I'll put them in your hood', she said, loading aforementioned hood with around ten large Bramleys. Extra care was needed for the final stretch home, as the weight of the apples was dragging my coat down over my backside, so a wide legged stance was required to avoid losing the lot.  I also had to stoop forward to balance out the additional weight.  Thank goodness we didn't meet anyone on the way home, as I looked like a cross between John Wayne and a Victorian coal miner (without the sooty smudges and pony).  Anyway, we made it, and I divvied up the goods, and the Mother took a lovely fresh food parcel home with her.

Once she'd gone, I set to making the crumble.  We had it after dinner with custard leftover from Sunday, and it was delicious.

The husband's eyes and mine met over the empty Ambrosia carton.  'Tomorrow?' we both said simultaneously.  Perhaps.  Mind you, I'm meeting up with Mrs S later today, and there may be pizza.

Who am I kidding?  

Of course there'll be pizza, and rhubarb gin, and pudding, and oh, I just give up...